“Poor fellow! he will not be here long. How dreadful to think that my papa should be the cause of his death,” said the girl to herself, with a great wave of pity and regret sweeping over her heart. He finished his toast and looked at her with a wan smile. “Now, Aline, you will tell me where you went when you left me that night,” he said, pleadingly. A wave of crimson swept over her face. She recalled the mission upon which she had gone to him that time. “I know what you are thinking of,” he said. “But it was a noble motive that prompted you that night. You would have saved me from the consequences of your father’s wrath. Ah, Aline, I was horribly tempted to take you at your word; but if I had done so I should but have done you deeper wrong.” “Yes, I know now, and I thank you for what seemed cruel then,” she answered, simply, but the blush still burned her face. She could not recall that hasty, impulsive action without the deepest shame. He gazed at her with sorrowful eyes and an aching heart. Ah, how soon the grave would hide him from the sight of those sweet, blue orbs! While the blush still burned her fair face she said to him with a half smile: “Did you think I should be rendered so desperate by your refusal that night, that I should go away and drown myself?” “I thought you would go back home, and I was horrified when I found that you had not done so,” he replied. “No, I was too wretched to go back,” she said. “I was in a fever of unrest and trouble when I came to you that night. My brain was on fire. I had not stopped to think or to reason. I acted on impulse wholly. But your sarcasm, your sternness, stunned me, cooled me. When I staggered out of Delaney House I was almost dead with shame and despair for what I had done.” She put up her hand a moment to hide the sensitive quiver of her lips, then resumed: “My first thought was to get away from my home. I longed to break loose from old associations and hide myself from all who knew me. I turned my steps away from Delaney House, and staggered along in the snow until my sense of physical discomfort cooled my reckless mood. I began to think that I must stop somewhere or I should perish in the cold. Then I remembered my sister Effie, who had gone South on a bridal tour.” She looked from him to Mrs. Griffin, with a smile in her blue eyes. “You were expecting to hear something tragic, but my story is the most prosaic one imaginable. I was not meant for a heroine at all; I am too afraid of discomfort and trouble,” she said, with a soft little laugh. “When I started I was quite desperate; I did not care where I went. But when the snow beat into my face and chilled my feet, I became discouraged. I did not want to go back, but I longed intensely to be with some one who loved me, and to be warm and comfortable.” “Poor dear!” sighed Mrs. Griffin, sympathetically.